


of games and truths

by woopsforgotadam



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post Season Six, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7372690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woopsforgotadam/pseuds/woopsforgotadam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark thought she could protect her father, but she failed. She won't fail this time and Jon will not have to once more deal with people in the shadows to stab his back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of games and truths

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I was going to have touble writing characters who but the t in subtle but I did not have as much trouble as I thought. Also, there is a lot of symbolism in this holy heck

“Lady Sansa.” At the sound of the voice, Sansa braced herself. She smiled as she turned, her eyes locked onto one Petyr Baelish, since Jon was declared King of the North, she has done her best to simultaneously keep her eyes on the scheming man while also avoiding being alone with him. It seems, she has failed on the second part of her plan. What a shame that was. “Or should I say, Lady Stark, Warden of the North.” Baelish smiled at her, as if nothing he spoke of before was said.

Two could play at that, “Lord Baelish, I think that under the current circumstances, Warden of the North is inappropriate. That would mean we were a part of the Seven Kingdoms. Lady of Winterfell fits better.” She smiled sweetly at him and he did that laugh he did, as if he found her humorous and witty. She long stopped wondering if he found her so.

“Lady of Winterfell it is, then. It is a title you belong in.” _Where I had_ planned _to put you_ , was left unsaid but heard anyway. Sansa looked around at the empty yard outside the Castle quickly, there were Soldiers moving about yards away towards the gate. She finished her examination of the terrain with a fixed stare at the man before her.

“I know that, Lord Baelish. Just as Jon deserves the title King of the North, wouldn’t you say?” She titled her head, flicking her copper hair over her shoulder. A move she often saw her Lady mother do. It was all for added salt in the wound.

It worked, because as Littlefinger said, “Yes, I suppose he does.” His face contorted in such a way that it looked as if he had stepped right into horse dumps. A victory for Sansa, then.

Before the forced interaction could go on for much longer, Littlefinger’s eyes widened and she turned, only to see the familiar form of Ghost walking up to the pair of them. Normally, the direwolf was off and away, though recently he has been prowling Winterfell and the Godswood. She put her hand out and Ghost nudged into it and settled against her, his red eyes looking up at Littlefinger. Silent and watchful. It didn’t hurt as much, she realized suddenly, seeing Ghost around. The death of Lady would always hurt somewhat, they were connected, the pair of them, but Ghost was here now and she felt less of it.

“Ghost is a loyal companion.” Remarked Petyr, his eyes now back to Sansa.

“Yes,” agreed Sansa, “loyalty is a trait that not many understand. Ghost is as loyal as he is protective and ferocious, no doubt.”

“I bet he yearns for the days he was by the Wall, the freedom he had.”

“I think he is happy where he can protect the ones he cares for.”

“There is more than one?”

“I should think so.”

The pair stared at one another in silence for what felt a fortnight, their stare off ended only when Littlefinger dipped his head and said, “I have places to be, Lady Stark, until we have the chance to meet one on one again.”

“Until then, Lord Baelish.” They walked in opposite directions, Sansa continuing her walk towards the crypt with Ghost next to her and Petyr towards the Great Hall.

Ghost stayed with her the whole time, Sansa softly pet his head as they trekked through the snow in the Godswood. In her free hand was a lantern, to guide her through the darkness. Her steps crunched in the snow, though her companion’s steps were silent. She briefly imagined him somehow flying very lowly and laughed at the silly thought. It had been a long time since she had laughed, something she didn’t quite know how long until Ghost had looked at her with something that could only be described as confused. How can a direwolf be confused?

Ah, well.

The pair of them entered the crypt in no time and walked along the stone steps, Ghost behind her, and she stopped walking until she got to the statues of her Aunt Lyanna, Uncle Brandon and Grandfather Rickard. She never knew them, no, but still paid her respects. As a child, she could never understand how her father broke tradition and had statues of his brother (who was supposed to marry Catelyn Tully) and his sister (who was kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen). Now, she understands. When this is all over, when there is peace once more, she knows that her aunt and uncle will be greeted with statues of their nieces and nephews and brother.

How silly, Sansa thought, her hand wiping her cheek, how silly to cry among the dead who cannot.

She walked past theirs to the reason for her visit. Just a few days before, Hallis Mollen arrived with the chest that contained her Lord Father’s bones. It was the last task that Catelyn Tully had given him and it took him many moons, and much hiding before he finally made it to a Winterfell who would fulfill the wishes of the long dead Lady of Winterfell: bury them in the crypt with his family. Sansa remembers how Jon—the King—had thanked him, he looked as if he wanted to cry but he didn’t and the moment passed. Of course, Mollen was given high honors, but there was not much to give with Winter here.

Sansa, in her dreams, can still see her father the day he died. He had went against what he believed in, what he knew (what she now knew) was the truth. And he had still died. She had begged for mercy and Joffrey had smiled and then Ser Ilyn had gotten the sword. She had tried, so hard, to save him. She was a stupid girl and that is the end of that.

Ghost surprised her yet against by bumping his head against her hip and she realized that she had been crying.

She briskly wiped her tears and took a deep breathe. There would be no more room for that, she has cried enough. Sansa’s breathes evened out and the sound of footsteps made her flinch. She turned, the lantern high in the air. Ghost was alert too, but relaxed immediately and walked towards the steps and she knew who it was.

“Your grace,” she greeted to Jon who seemed unsurprised to find her here.

“You need not call me that, Lady Sansa.” he said, Ghost left Jon’s hands and went to lay by the statue of Lyanna.

“Then you may call me, Sansa. At least,” her face turned away from him and back towards her father’s tomb, “when we are alone. In front of others, we need to hold up propriety.”

“I knew you would say that,” he moved to stand next to her, though she did not look at him. “I understand why, though, I am still not accustomed to being called such high titles.”

Sansa smiles at those words. “You will adapt to them well. Were you not Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch? That is a high title.”

“A bastard leading a bunch of thieves, murderers and other bastards.”

“And now you are a King leading Lords against a dangerous threat and protecting the North,” she countered easily, “They chose you, just as the Night’s Watch did.”

“Sansa,” Jon pressed, “I was stabbed by my brothers.”

“Jon,” she mimics his tone, “they were a bunch of thieves and murders.”

He laughs and she finds herself joining in. Then, she says, “I do not think it is proper to laugh in crypts.”

Jon shakes his head, “I should think not. Though, I think the dead would prefer this over tears.”

Whatever smile she had fades slowly. She looks at him. “You heard me.”

He shrugs, “Your eyes are red and your cheeks are blotchy.”

There was a moment of silence and she looks away from him again, back at their father’s tomb. “I can’t stop thinking of the day he was murdered.”

Sansa hears Jon’s breath hitch, though she continues on as if she hadn’t stopped. “I begged for mercy, I though Joffrey was going to grant it. I was so stupid, _so so_ stupid and now our father is dead. If only I had been smarter, I just—“

“You couldn’t have changed their minds, Sansa.” Jon interrupts her, a surprise and she looks over at him once more. He is staring at her with Stark-grey eyes and she sees nothing but honesty. He was never good at hiding what he was feeling and she knows he needs to at least attempt to work on it. “They were monsters. To you, to our Lord Father. I know you believe that no one can protect anyone, but I swear, as much as I can, I will protect you.”

He grabs her shoulders then, but she grips the lantern tight. She just stares at him, his eyes and his face. He stares, too, with the same intensity that runs in their family line. He swears by it. Sansa has no idea what to say, but then, she remembers Littlefinger. She remembers his desires. He didn’t chant like the other men. He wants the Iron Throne, Jon is in his way.

Sansa places the Lantern down and Jon’s hands move down her arms, when she is standing straight again, she pulls Jon in close to her and says, “And I will do my best to protect you.” His arms wrap around her and before their father’s tomb, they share a private embrace; with only Ghost and the dead of House Stark as their witnesses.

She may not have the ability to wield a sword, but she can play the Game.

 

The leave the crypt together, hand in hand and Ghost behind them. He hold the lantern now and they walk in comfortable silence all the way back towards the Great Hall. They are shared with greetings from the Lords and soldier, to which Sansa smiles and nods and Jon speaks.

They do not notice that some of the older men have to blink before seeing that it is the White Wolf, the King of the North and the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark and not Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully. That the older men see ghosts instead of real, live people. Their interlocked hands, her bright red hair and his dark hair and long, sullen face—they very well could be Ned and Cat reborn.

That is, until the hulking figure of Ghost trails behind them, reminding everyone of their new reality.

One man who sees this sneers, but sees opportunity nonetheless. Because his vision is still the same, though some steps to get there have changed. Sansa will be Queen and one day, Petyr will be her King. But first, another may have to fill the role.

**Author's Note:**

> Petyr Baelish is Up To Know Good. Idk, I feel like he may just stir the shit pot and be like "lol they should marry for [some reason for another he pulled from his ass]" just to cause distraction and tension so he could implement his own plans. Sansa is watching him, though and SO IS GHOST.


End file.
